


Whence No Traveller Returns

by Naamah_Beherit



Series: The Journey of a Thousand Miles [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 17:45:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7397305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naamah_Beherit/pseuds/Naamah_Beherit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It only takes a moment for life to be changed forever, and a lifetime of getting used to that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whence No Traveller Returns

**Author's Note:**

> The title has been borrowed from a song by Karl Sanders.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Without self knowledge, without understanding the working and functions of his machine, man cannot be free, he cannot govern himself and he will always remain a slave._  
George Gurdjieff

 

 

The first time Mairon encountered Melkor, the Vala was the raging fire that devoured Arda, and the ravaging cold that clutched it tightly in its grasp, and the shadows that silently moved out of the corner of one’s eye. He was that deafening crescendo of thunderstorms tearing open the starless sky, endless in its blackness.

When Mairon moved across Arda in awe, the world around him convulsing in aftershocks of its birth, the shadows whirled around him, threatening to engulf his mind, deadly cold advanced on him to quench the very fire of his soul, and unstoppable flames towered over him, promising to consume him if he dared to approach. He did not falter, for there was something else underlying the flames’ roars, a soft whisper that tugged at his heart and awakened half-forgotten memories from before Eä, memories of freedom and loss, and of overwhelming _emptiness_. He reached out to the flames and after an untold passage of time the flames reached back, and suddenly there was no more emptiness.

 

* * *

 

Arda was still young and so was he when he met Melkor for the second time.

He was already claimed by Aulë, for all the Maiar had been chosen and sent to work for the common glory of them all. His master’s presence was strong in his mind, a bright fire Mairon could add to that of his own, blazing steadily and in perfect harmony with the rest of his kin enlisted by the Great Smith to help him shape the world. He was still getting used to his physical form, his flames transcending his body and exposing his nature as if he clad himself in no body at all.

Mairon wandered Arda and learnt it, tasted it, _felt_ it up till something stirred up the fire of his spirit and kindled it until it burnt brighter than ever before. He listened to the song of those flames and followed it to its very source.

 _He_ stood there, amidst the inferno of thunderstorms, ground beneath his feet frozen to the bone and cracked as if it could not hold his weight. After all, what could possibly withstand such power?

Mairon tuned in to the fire which sang so sweetly to him, and greeted it with a song of his own for the first time since

_(the Music)_

he could remember. It made Aulë’s imprint subdued, almost non-existent.

Melkor turned his eyes to Mairon, surprised of the Maia’s presence in a place where there should be no one else but him. His eyes were an ever-changing pool of colours, as though he were just as unused to having a body as Mairon was.

“It is you again, little flame.”

The lonely Vala approached him after a while, ice and fire in his hands and his very being, an impossible combination that had somehow been made possible. The Maia looked up and for a moment the eyes he gazed into resembled his own, warm and golden, a reflection of his fire. True, little he was when compared to the Vala, but it did not matter to the fire.

It did not matter to him.

“What is it that brought you here? What is it that you seek regardless of perils you must have been warned against?”

Only asked directly, Mairon realised he never thought of the danger. Oh yes, he was warned, they all were – of unknown danger and ancient discord, of perils that lay in solitary exploration – and yet the fire wielded by the Vala chanted too beautifully to ignore it. So he regarded a hole in his soul he was previously not even aware of, and realised what it made him look for.

“Fulfilment,” he said and the Vala laughed at that word, a sound that made foundations of the world shake.

“And what do you know about it, little flame?” he asked in a voice full of mockery. “You have already been taken into servitude, marked and put on a leash. Your spirit is already bound. Does it not bring you fulfilment? Does it not make you satisfied?”

He reached out and touched Mairon’s cheek with a hand in which he held the fire, and the Maia’s own flames roared within him with a newly found power. He should have pulled back. He should have fled.

“Do not seek what you are not ready to take, little flame. Do not claim to understand a matter of choice when there is none for you to make.”

He raised the other hand and this time Mairon backed away, dreading the coldness of its touch. Only then he felt Aulë calling to him, summoning his spirit to where the Great Smith was, and suddenly his servitude was like a yoke atop his shoulders.

“Ah, yes, there it is,” the shadow in front of him murmured with a bitter satisfaction underlying his every word. “Your master’s call, one you cannot refuse. This is your fulfilment, little flame. This is the very purpose of your existence. Yours will be nothing but labour until the end of time itself. You will know no achievement and no satisfaction for they already belong to your master.”

Despite overwhelming emotions raging inside him, Mairon held his chin high and proudly. Denial gnawed at him, relentless and bitter and surprisingly painful in its freshness. The Vala looked at him again and for a moment he thought he was going to be vanquished.

“Go now, little flame,” he was told instead. “Go back to your master and get used to it, because there will never be a different fate for you.”

His spirit burnt with refusal and when he returned to Aulë, the Great Smith greeted him with joy.

 

* * *

 

They met for the third time because Melkor’s soul called to Mairon’s over distance and gentle hum of Maiarin minds.

Arda was older now, violent paroxysms of its creation had all but stopped, and clouds of ash had almost receded, showing sky full of countless stars. At first, Mairon thought of ignoring the call; insistently refusing to heed the urge pulling his spirit towards uncertainty and path that would only lead to ruin. His fire twisted and raged inside him, threatening to tear him apart, his mind full of unimaginable longing that imperilled his sanity. He gave up in the end, left with no other possibility but to respond to a craving that made him doubt his own mind.

Melkor stood near a volcano that was settling itself to sleep, the song of its fire nothing but a whisper now where a cacophony used to be heard not so long ago.

“Ah, little flame,” the Vala said, a soft smile briefly appearing on his face. He was more corporeal this time, more solid, more... _everything_. “I thought you would choose not to come.”

Mairon stopped at a considerable distance and yet he still felt waves of familiarity and comfort wash over him, giving him more energy and power than he ever mustered either on his own or with Aulë’s assistance. With this power, he could create.

With this power, he could _be_.

“You said that as if I _had_ a choice to begin with, Mighty One,” he answered with acrimony that was unfamiliar to him, “whilst it was you who told me that I never was and never will be able to choose for myself.”

The Vala laughed and that sound reverberated through Arda itself.

“Did I coerce you into anything, little flame? Did I order you to come? How could I when you are not mine to command.”

This time it was Mairon who laughed, a loud, disrespectful sound that frightened him to the core. He expected to be struck, unwelcome as that might be yet fully understandable, an outcome that was inevitable to come. And yet Melkor did nothing, he merely kept looking at him with eyes that were icy blue this time.

“Are you not aware, Mighty One?” the Maia said wistfully. “Cannot you tell? I do not know much about the Valar, but I know the language of fire. Yours speaks of solitude and yearning and untold possibilities. It sings its promises and laments, and it strikes every note possible. It constantly whispers, Mighty One. And I cannot hope not to hear it.”

The Vala approached him in profound silence, his steps deliberate and slow as if time itself did not matter. Hoar-frost covered the ground around him despite the heat that had not yet entirely receded.

“So boldly you speak of matters you have no comprehension of,” he said with just a hint of annoyance. “So brave and adamant you are in your claims of understanding what emotions might drive my actions. You know little of the Valar and nothing of me besides what you might have been told. Assume not, little flame; learn first.”

“One does not need to learn when things are presented with clarity,” Mairon forced himself to say. The closer the Vala was, the stronger his spirit’s song became, and all the Maia wanted was to close his eyes, breathe it in and never let go. Of comfort it spoke to him and of safe haven in kinship. In comparison, his connection to Aulë was like a deep wound, throbbing restlessly at the base of his skull. What he felt from Melkor, the mere _promise_ of it, was elating in its boundlessness.

He let his soul expand, carry in fire what he could not phrase with words, and call to the roaring inferno that constituted the Vala in front of him. It was rage and hurt and countless thoughts, it was curiosity and sheer desire to taste and touch and know, and it was change everlasting.

And, for the first time, he was pushed back.

“I should punish you, Maia of Aulë,” Melkor said and his voice was like thunder, amusement gone as if it were never there. “I should make an example of you that would be spoken about for all the ages to come.”

Mairon cowered despite his will, for no Maia could hope to withstand the wrath of the Valar. He sought comfort in the flames and found none, a gaping abyss of excruciating cold in their place.

“And yet,” the Vala continued, his ire slowly fading away, “despite your insolence and wild claims, I am still inclined to carry out what I was planning when I called to you.”

The Maia did not dare to raise his eyes.

“You approached me of your own free will while others flee at the mere sight of me. You lack mediocrity of mind that is so common for the Maiar. Somehow, if I were to admit, and I am not hesitant to do it, you piqued my interest and that is so unusual and rare that I have decided to grant you a gift no other Vala would ever give you.”

Mairon’s eyes darted upwards when Melkor touched his forehead for the briefest of moments.

“Unique you are,” he said and something _broke_ in Mairon’s mind, “and unique you shall remain. Behold, for I have given you what you were denied at the very moment of your creation, and denied of it you shall no longer be. Freedom I gave you, the ability to choose your own master instead of accepting what had been bestowed upon you. Choose well, little flame, for from now on consequences of your actions will be upon you, and responsibility will be yours to take. Cherish your freedom as it is the greatest gift of them all.”

Gone, all of it – the comforting hum of Aulë’s household and the presence of the Great Smith himself; all was gone from Mairon’s mind. So was a deep connection to other Maiar, replaced merely with awareness of their existence. There was no more consolation of shared energy, no more home in Aulë’s halls. It was not a gift; it was a curse, a fitting punishment for angering a Vala.

Left with nothing but an endless solitude of his own mind, Mairon sank to his knees and wept.

“Do not despair, little flame,” the Vala murmured softly. “Rejoice, for true freedom is precious and shall be nurtured. Would you rather live in ignorance and submission?”

It was a question a Vala should have been asked, not him. He was a Maia and thus he needed one of the Valar to rely on, he needed that just like he needed Arda itself. He vaguely remembered that there was time before the world, before Aulë had claimed him, when he had been his own master.

Mairon no longer knew that feeling.

“Why did you do this?” he asked in desperation. “Why did you make me like you are, alone and without a purpose?”

“Forfeit assumptions, they do not befit you,” Melkor smirked and wrapped himself in darkness circling idly around his feet. “Do not forget that you are not the only one who understands the language of fire. Enjoy your freedom, little flame. Use it well.”

“But, Aulë...” Mairon choked, “he will know, he—”

“He will not,” the darkness objected. “Who do you think I am?”

“Curse you!” the Maia suddenly yelled, long past caring about consequences or propriety. He could not hold those words, not anymore. “Curse you to the Void for condemning me to such fate!”

Ground-shaking laughter was the only reaction he received. The Vala left him, alone and wading in misery, and Mairon did not know how long he was standing there, listening to the dormant volcano and equally deafening absence of Melkor’s fiery spirit. And when he finally went back, Aulë welcomed him as if nothing changed, and Mairon somehow forced himself to smile as he did that.

 

* * *

 

Melkor was driven away from Arda not long after their third meeting. His absence enlarged the gaping hole of Mairon’s loss until it took a form of bottomless abyss, and reduced the flames of his spirit to mere cinders of a long-dead fire, cold and heavy in his mind.

He looked for solace in Aulë’s forges, but they only reminded him of the kinship that had been taken from him. Then he turned his attention to Arda itself, but the world was quiet, aging slowly but inevitably, its fires subdued and replaced with plants growing slowly under the light of the Two Lamps. It still whispered its secrets to him, though; unheard tales of stones and metals tempered by the heat of yore.

So he began his journeys to explore Arda and learn its secret, much like he had done all those aeons ago, and each time Aulë welcomed him back with open arms upon his return; just as curious about his findings as the Maia himself. And somehow, in time, his spirit found contentment again, satisfaction of his work and happiness born of unknown, of journeys uncontrolled and unlimited in their perspectives.

Far from the lights of Almaren, his flames burnt anew with curiosity and desire to know; his freedom not as unwelcome as it used to be at the beginning and, surprisingly, still a secret of his own.

Far from the lights of Almaren, under the blue gleam of young stars, Mairon smiled again.


End file.
